


i'm sorry i ruined your birthday

by soviet_whale



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Car-trip thoughts, Established Relationship, Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, Post-Canon, about eight months or so, andrew doesn't know how to process his emotions, it's his birthday, long-drives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soviet_whale/pseuds/soviet_whale
Summary: One, two, three, four. November fourth. It's Andrew's birthday, and he doesn't really know what to do with himself. He's not the best at dealing with emotions, but he's trying.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 26
Kudos: 236





	i'm sorry i ruined your birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first fic, so obviously I'm new to this. I tried to write from Andrew's perspective and it was more difficult than I thought it would be. This is what I ended up with, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Just a warning, Andrew's past abuse is briefly mentioned but it's not graphic and it's only like two sentences. This isn't a song fic, but the title is from Florence and the Machine's song "Grace."

One, two, three, four. November fourth. There is absolutely nothing different about today. It’s a cold, rainy, November day, and Andrew hates it as much as he hates all the other days. On this day, he was ripped out of the womb of a woman who didn’t want him. It’s just another day of the year, the fourth day of the month, the eleventh month of the calendar. 

The sun’s not up but the sky is grey. Andrew’s fingers itch for a cigarette, and his foot yearns for a gas pedal to floor. He rolls out of bed and slips his shoes on. Looking back to make sure no one is following him, he grabs his keys and shoves the cigarettes in his hoodie. The suite door closes with a quiet  _ click _ . One, two, three, four, five, six cigarettes left in the pack. 

The cold, wet air feels good, grounding. It helps with Andrew’s tense shoulders but does very little to ease his mind. 21 is too many years. He lights the cigarette as he jogs down the stairs, relishing the drag and the cloud of smoke he breathes out. The cool metal of the Maserati feels solid under Andrew’s fingertips as he unlatches the door. He peels out the parking lot and towards the interstate. He has no idea where he’s going.  _ 21 exits for 21 years _ , he thinks to himself and begins to count the miles.

Andrew wills his brain to stop working, but he can’t help thinking about Aaron. It’s his birthday, too. One, two. Twins. Andrew tells himself that he doesn’t care about Aaron, he doesn’t care if Aaron struggles with their birthday as much as Andrew does. He tells himself that he doesn’t need to check on Aaron today because he’ll celebrate with Katelyn. In fact, Andrew heard them talking about going out for a nice dinner and getting champagne with Aaron’s valid ID. He reminds himself that Aaron doesn’t mind celebrating their birthday, and he goes out every year. He’s not jealous. Andrew isn’t jealous that Aaron won’t ever hate their birthday like Andrew does.  _ She chose him _ , he thinks bitterly, and in the solitary confinement of the Maserati, Andrew lets himself wince. His face falls back to its default impassive expression a few seconds later. The radio clock reads 8:21. 

The sky keeps getting greyer and greyer and the Maserati keeps going faster and faster. Andrew loses count of how many exits he’s driven past, but he knows he’s far from Palmetto. He pulls off and turns around, wondering if anyone is missing him. Probably not; he skips morning practice all the time. Wymack will yell at him for it later but Andrew does not care at all. Andrew focuses on the leather of the steering wheel, growing warm where his hands clutch it. He lifts his fingers and puts them back on the wheel, not really watching the road. He sees a billboard advertising amusement park tickets for $21. 

Andrew inexplicably thinks about Kevin. He’s going to be pissed when Andrew gets back and has no explanation for his absence. He always does. The thought is almost comforting, in a sick way. Kevin won’t treat him any differently than he would on any other day of the year. He’ll get steam-out-of-his-ears mad because Andrew skipped practice and try to start a fight. Andrew’s almost excited. He likes seeing Kevin mad. It amuses him. Kevin thinks that if he yells loud enough, he can make Andrew care about exy, about the team, about winning. Andrew gives zero fucks. He’s not here to be Kevin’s pet, to let Kevin groom him into a perfect player. He’s not here to make Kevin’s life easy. At least Kevin will know better than to say anything about the date. 

One, two, three, four. November fourth. Andrew has experienced the fourth of November many times. 21 times, to be exact. Most of them weren’t noteworthy. Some of them were horrible. His brain begins to play memories from previous November fourths. He smells alcohol. His wrists hurt in phantom pain where big men used to grip them too tightly. He sees wicked smiles and too many teeth. He doesn’t panic, not anymore, because he’s detached himself from those memories. He sees them from the outside, knowing that they happened to him, but not caring enough to let the memories affect him anymore. Bee says it's unhealthy, but Andrew sees it as the only way to cope. He’s got knives now, and conviction. The thought of his knives and the press of metal against his skin under his armbands settles him more than anything. 

The Maserati’s wheels spin and spin and spin, and Andrew clears his head. It’s been almost a year since he’s been off his medicine, and he doesn’t miss it. But it was easier to clear his head back then. It was easier to stop thinking completely. Now, he clears his head but his thoughts still wander back to Aaron and Katelyn, and a normal birthday and he reminds himself that he’s not jealous. And it’s not a lie, not really. Andrew doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday. Nothing in his life is a celebration, especially his birthday. No one ever seems to understand how Andrew could spend his whole life without acknowledging the day of his birth. 

Neil understands. 

And Andrew’s fucking brain has betrayed him. He’s spent all morning avoiding any thoughts of Neil. He didn’t even look at Neil’s bunk before he left, because the emotions that tangle in his chest when he thinks of Neil are unbearable. They’re unfamiliar and uncomfortable and Andrew would rather admit to enjoying exy than try to name all the emotions that unfurl in his chest when he thinks about Neil. He doesn’t have the time or energy to try and sort through the part of his brain where he stores all things Neil. He was fine, all morning, keeping his head blissfully Neil-free, and then his brain supplied ‘ _ Neil understands. _ ’ 

And Neil  _ does _ understand. He understands Andrew so much and that’s the problem. He understands and respects Andrew, and it makes Andrew want to scream. Every other person Andrew has ever met takes from Andrew. They make deals and trade favors and take parts of Andrew’s thin sanity. But Neil gives and gives and gives and Andrew wants him to break. He wants Neil to prove that he’s just like everyone else. He wants Neil to slip up because if he doesn’t, it will disprove a truth about people Andrew has known his whole life: people will take more than you give them and cannot be trusted. Neil is honest, open, and willing to take whatever Andrew gives him without even  _ asking _ for more. Neil tears down everything Andrew thought he knew about the world and it bothers him. A thought pops into Andrew’s brain without permission.  _ Neil is not, and never will be, like those men that hurt you before _ . And he knew it, of  _ course _ he knew it, but the thought has crawled out from his subconscious to prod at Andrew’s brain. Neil will always respect him and give him space and  _ understand _ him. For the first time in Andrew’s life, he is deeply, deeply afraid. He’s afraid because he knows if Neil leaves, it will hurt. If Neil slips up now it will ruin Andrew. No one has ever had the kind of power over Andrew’s emotions that Neil has. It’s a terrifying notion. 

Andrew’s never been in this situation and he doesn’t exactly know how to go about it. Neil is an enigma, an unsolvable equation. It’s part of the draw, Andrew thinks. He didn’t feel like this with Roland or the boy he kissed in juvie or the other nameless faces that he’d blown a few times. Those encounters always really had been nothing. Just experimentation, curiosity. As much as he tried to pretend at first, Andrew knows that he and Neil aren’t  _ nothing _ . He doesn’t think they ever were. He doesn’t know what they are, but he knows they aren’t nothing. 

It’s more than nothing and Neil knows it. It was more than nothing when Andrew told Neil he wasn’t going anywhere on the floor of the motel room. It was more than nothing when they first shared a bed during spring break. It was more than nothing when Andrew chose Neil over Aaron. It was more than nothing when they became champions and Neil kissed Andrew so hard he saw stars. It was more than nothing when Neil stayed with the cousins the whole summer. It was more than nothing when Neil slept on the couch because he knew Andrew wasn’t ready to sleep up against someone. It was more than nothing when Andrew finally did let Neil into his bed, cautiously. It was more than nothing when Andrew woke up with his head on Neil’s chest and he  _ liked _ it. Hell, it was more than nothing back when Neil was still a side-effect of the drugs. Neil is  _ everything,  _ and the thought makes Andrew almost crash into a guard rail. He’ll never admit it to anyone, he’ll never say it out loud, but he admits to himself. Because, however nerve-wracking it is to have someone know and understand you, it feels good. It feels good to know that Neil will be on the roof, smoking, with Andrew, when Andrew needs it. Andrew hates that Neil understands him and knows him and trusts him, but it also makes him giddy. Andrew knows he trusts Neil, too. 

Big, blue eyes see him. More importantly, they see through him. Neil’s eyes see Andrew and they see the person underneath the apathy, the complete detachment. Neil’s mouth sucks the apathy out of Andrew, and every time they connect, Andrew cares a little bit more. About what, he doesn’t know. Exy, life, ice cream, Neil. Neil’s hands pull the detachment from Andrew’s brain, and every time Neil’s fingers slide through Andrew’s hair, he’s a little bit more grounded, in the moment, a little bit more  _ Andrew _ . 

A car honking at him pulls Andrew back into the present. 21 years is too many years. 21 years is too many years. 21 years is too many years. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn, elf, zwölf, dreizehn, vierzehn, fünfzehn, sechzehn, siebzehn, achtzehn, neunzehn, zwanzig, einundzwanzig.

Andrew hasn’t ever been suicidal, but he never thought he’d live this long. He’s never had any reason to  _ want _ to live this long. Now he thinks he might. The past year really did some rewiring to Andrew’s brain. Betsy, and Neil, and Wymack, and Nicky, and Aaron, and even fucking Kevin are getting to him. He thinks he might like to play professional exy. He thinks he might want to be there when Nicky gets married. He thinks he might want to hold Aaron’s future children. He thinks he might want to beat Neil and Nicky in Mario Kart again. He thinks he might want to kiss Neil every single day of their lives. He thinks he might want to live, and the thought scares him because every time he’s wanted something it evaporates just beyond his reach. 

Andrew pulls into the parking spot at Fox Tower and heads for the roof. He’s not ready to deal with Kevin’s anger or Nicky’s concern about him being gone all morning, not before smoking another cigarette. When he reaches the roof, Andrew realizes that someone is already up there. Someone with reddish-brown hair and an antagonizing shoulder-to-waist ratio. Someone wearing a bright orange hoodie that says “Minyard” on the back and incredibly faded skinny jeans. Andrew absolutely shocks himself when he realizes he’s relieved to see Neil. At some point, he’s going to get a grip. It takes one, two, three, four, five, six, seven steps to reach Neil. 

“Hey,” is all Neil says when Andrew hands him a cigarette. They stand close, just barely brushing shoulders, for a long time. Andrew smokes and Neil lets his cigarette burn to the butt. 

The air stays cold but the sun is out now. Neil is warm against Andrew’s side. They don’t talk and Andrew is content to stare at Neil out of the corner of his eye. 

“I got you something,” Neil eventually says to the campus in front of them. He turns to look at Andrew, his shoulders hunched.  _ He knows,  _ Andrew realizes, and fuck Neil for knowing that Andrew hates his birthday. Neil’s waiting for him to say “I hate you” or “Fuck off” or “Go inside and leave me alone.” Andrew decides to say nothing and blows smoke at Neil instead. Neil shuffles closer to Andrew when he doesn’t say anything and gives him an appraising look. Deciding that he’s safe for the moment, Neil tugs on Andrew’s sleeve. When Andrew meets his eyes, Neil jerks his head back toward the door. Andrew shoots him a bored look but follows when Neil heads inside. 

Neil keeps looking back at Andrew and smiling, a goofy smile, and it’s making Andrew’s chest clench up. The tightness in his chest is piquant, unlike in the car when he remembered the other November fourth’s he’s lived through. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven stairs to the third floor of Fox Tower. 

The suite door is locked, so Andrew guesses that Nicky and Kevin are out. Neil pushes the door open and Andrew shuts it and locks it behind them. Andrew’s stomach is a ball of nerves. He’s never gotten a real birthday present before, much less from someone who makes him feel all sorts of conflicting emotions. There were a few years, in foster care, when someone would give him a coloring book and a pack of crayons. Those never really counted. 

Neil grabs a box from the floor next to the bean bag. There’s no paper, no bells or whistles, and Andrew knows that Neil got him something because he saw something that Andrew would like. He didn’t just buy an obligatory birthday gift. Andrew has no idea what to make of that. He struggles to keep his face dispassionate. 

“Where are Nicky and Kevin?” Andrew asks. He hopes it sounds casual as it comes out of his mouth. Neil just shrugs. 

“Nicky forced Kevin to go with him, Aaron, and the Bombshell Blonde to lunch. They probably won’t be back for another hour and a half.” Andrew snorts at their shared dislike of Katelyn and Neil grins at him. He holds the box out between them and Andrew grabs it with a quirked brow. 

One, two, three. It takes three seconds for Andrew to lift open the box and pull out the contents. It’s a knife. It’s a grey throwing knife, and on the handle, there’s some silver lettering. Andrew turns the knife in his hand and he reads the letters: BITCH. He looks up at Neil who’s grinning like an idiot. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Andrew remembers that Neil doesn’t smile like that when anyone else is around. Neil’s eyes are  _ so _ blue and his face is so open and amused and it hurts to look directly at him. Andrew looks back at the knife in his hand. 

“It’s alright if you don’t want it,” Neil says when he sees Andrew frown. Neil’s got it all wrong, but Andrew has no idea how to convey that he will never part from his new knife without using words. If he opens his mouth, he might say something stupid like “Thank you” or “I love it” or “You are the first person who has ever given me a meaningful gift and I would like it if you would give me a gift on my birthday every year for the rest of our lives.” 

Neil looks down at his hands. “I just saw it and I thought of you.” Andrew feels like he’s falling. It’s a fight to keep his face neutral. 

“Everyone who knows me thinks of me when they see a knife,” Andrew retorts. But the statement has no venom in it. He spent his whole morning out driving, trying to forget about any significance that November fourth holds to him. The knife in his hands is more significant than any calendar day ever will be. He doesn’t know how to thank Neil. 

“Yes or no,” Andrew says. Neil’s eyes shoot up and meet his, and he’s grinning again. 

“I knew you’d like it. Nicky said you’d stab me with it.” Neil laughs, and Andrew looks at the knife. BITCH. He slides it into his armband. 

“Nicky’s a dumbass who doesn’t know how to give gifts. Yes or no,” he says again, setting the knife box down on the counter. 

“Yes,” Neil replies without any hesitation. Andrew hooks his hands into Neil’s (his) hoodie and yanks him forward. When he crashes their lips together, Neil’s hands go directly to Andrew’s hair. It’s such a relief to be touching Neil, to allow himself to want something. He kisses Neil hard, and Neil kisses back just as demanding. Andrew’s hands roam all over Neil’s abdomen, across Neil’s back. They clutch at Neil’s sides, at his throat. They’re kissing and kissing and kissing and Andrew doesn’t know whose tongue is whose, and he does not care. He’s so far gone, he’s past denial. This man in front of him exasperates and stresses Andrew out to no end, but he doesn’t ever want him to leave. Neil saw a knife that said BITCH and thought of Andrew and the thought makes Andrew want to devour Neil. 

He pours all of his turmoil into Neil’s mouth and Neil clutches at Andrew’s hair and suddenly it’s not enough. Andrew’s drowning, absolutely drowning. He can’t count anything, not in English and definitely not in German. He couldn’t care less about anything other than Neil’s hands and mouth. He backs them up against the wall and puts one hand on Neil’s chest to keep a few inches of distance between them. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable being close to Neil, because he’s not anymore. But Andrew’s resolve will crumble if he doesn’t keep himself in check, and he needs to be in full control of his faculties. He rips his mouth away to gasp for breath, and Neil dives into Andrew’s neck. Andrew’s fingers clutch at Neil’s hip bones, hard. He might leave little bruises, and the thought makes him shiver. He feels hot, and itchy.

Neil’s kisses get more insistent, and he breathes the question into Andrew’s neck. 

“Yes,” Andrew says before the words have even made it out of Neil’s mouth. Neil bites down and Andrew shivers so much he struggles to keep his hands on Neil. His senses go into overdrive, his heart is pounding against his chest, and it’s just shy of too much. He thinks about letting Neil’s hands travel across his body the way Andrew’s travel around Neil. Andrew might be ready for that, he thinks, and he knows Neil will stop if Andrew tells him to. 

His hands reach up to grab at Neil’s hair and he pulls Neil out of his neck and brings him up to eye level. Andrew lets go of his face but gives him a stare that Neil knows means  _ stay _ . Without breaking eye contact, he grabs Neils wrists and brings his hands to his waist. Neil gives him a questioning look, but Andrew just stares right back. Neil’s fingers flex in the soft cotton of the hoodie, and Andrew nods. 

“Keep your hands where they are.” Andrew demands. When Neil nods, Andrew steps forward and closes the small gap between them before he can change his mind. Their bodies are completely pressed flush against each other, chest to chest. He kicks his right leg in between Neil’s thighs, searching Neil’s face for any sign of hesitation. There is none, just a flushed face and blue, searching eyes. He hears Neil’s small gasp and he has to concentrate on not melting into Neil. Andrew leans back just enough to press his mouth to Neil’s. One hand kneads at Neil’s shoulder and the other holds onto Neil’s throat. Neil keeps one hand on Andrew’s waist and brings the other to the back of his head, and  _ fuck _ but that feels good. They’re so close and Andrew thought he’d feel like he was suffocating, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel trapped or enclosed or anything he thought he’d feel when he imagined being this close to anyone. 

Andrew gets lost and it feels like hours of desperate kisses and roaming hands. Before he even makes the decision to move he’s sliding to his knees. He looks up at Neil to make sure it’s still a yes, and then he pops the button to Neil’s jeans. Andrew doesn’t hesitate to swallow him whole. This isn’t an exploratory blow-job with a stranger in a club; Andrew wants to absolutely  _ wreck _ Neil. And it’s so  _ good _ because Neil makes little noises and pulls at Andrew’s hair and the whole experience sets Andrew’s spine on fire. 

When he’s done, Neil slides down the wall as he is wont to do after a particularly intense orgasm. Andrew tries and fails not to take any pride in this knowledge. He pushes down his own joggers and stares hard at Neil, daring him to say anything. They’ve done this a few times, but he still feels exposed and vulnerable. Neil takes the hint and pushes his mouth to Andrew’s, humming into his mouth. It’s fast and hard, like everything is with Andrew. Neil’s still humming approval into his mouth and clutching at his hair, egging him on with his touch. 

“My neck, Neil.” Andrew spits out. Neil pulls back, grinning, and Andrew pins him with a rock solid gaze. 

“Your neck fetish is not attractive,” Neil breathes into Andrew’s ear, smiling, but he presses his mouth to the sensitive spot under Andrew’s ear before Andrew has a chance to say anything. Neil kisses up and down Andrew’s neck, and it’s this, along with the memory of blue, blue eyes staring at him moments before that tips Andrew over the edge. 

It takes them both a moment to catch their breath, and Andrew wipes his hand on Neil’s (his) hoodie in retaliation for Neil using his own words against him. Instead of saying anything, Neil grabs Andrew’s face and captures his lips in a long, lingering kiss. Andrew’s glad that he’s already on the floor, because his legs stop working. He leans on Neil and lets him kiss him stupid. 

This is new, the soft kisses afterward. It’s ten times more intimate than the rushed climaxes and it pushes all coherent thoughts out of Andrew’s brain. He lets himself melt against Neil, and he’s helpless to do anything except open his mouth up to Neil’s administrations. When Andrew pulls away (because he knows Neil will kiss him all day if he doesn’t) they’re both panting again. Andrew stands and pulls Neil with him. He can feel Neil’s eyes on his face. 

“Staring,” he chides, but he doesn’t really mind. 

“You’re beautiful,” Neil admits, and Andrew almost staggers backward. He tries and fails to keep a blush off his face. He waves a hand in a dismissive gesture, but it’s weak at best. He can’t think of anything to say, so he stays silent and stares back at Neil. 

And goddamn, Neil looks like a god of debauchery. His hair is all over the place, and Andrew silently thanks his hands for making Neil look like that. His skin is flushed and his clothes are rumpled and his eyes are glazed over. He’s gorgeous. 

“Have you eaten anything today?” Neil asks, and Andrew takes a moment to process the words. His brain still isn’t quite working properly, and he doesn’t trust his mouth so he just shakes his head. 

“Me neither. Come to the dining hall with me?” Neil extends his hand and cocks his head. Neither of them is in any state to go out in public, but Andrew’s stomach growls as if on cue. He throws a bored glance (which doesn’t fool either of them) at Neil and heads toward the door. If he touches Neil right now they might not ever leave the suite. Neil just laughs and follows him out. Andrew counts one, two sets of stairs to the sidewalk below. Two twins who share a birthday today. Two boys who mean everything to each other, walking to lunch. 

After regaining some of his composure, Andrew slips his fingers through Neil’s. As they walk to the hall, Neil chatters about random things, something funny Nicky said, a prank Dan’s planning to pull on Matt, the grade he got on his last math exam. Neil seems content to do all the talking and Andrew lets his mind wander. 

One, two, three, four. November fourth. To Andrew, there was nothing special about this day. The wind is cold, but he’s wearing a hoodie that says “Josten” on the back, and it’s very warm. He’s got Neil’s hand in his, tethering him to the present. He’s got another knife, he feels very sated, and he thinks he might want to keep living. Every time he admits it, Andrew’s a little less scared. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Andrew's POV was difficult lol and I doubt I'll write it again but I'm glad I did it! I'm on [Tumblr](https://soviet-whale.tumblr.com/), even though I'm pretty new over there, if you want to pop by and say hello!


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